


a dance of four left feet

by _bspctcldwrites (dashinaname)



Category: Gameboys (Web Series 2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, CaiReel week 2020, Come as Lube, Day 4, Exes to Lovers, Getting Back Together, M/M, Spit As Lube, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, implied wester union, secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashinaname/pseuds/_bspctcldwrites
Summary: On a Friday night after yet another exhausting week, Cairo finds himself in a strip club, sharing space with the last person he expects.---caireel week 2020, day 4secret, exes to lovers au
Relationships: Gavreel Alarcon/Cairo Lazaro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73
Collections: CaiReel Week 2020





	a dance of four left feet

**Author's Note:**

> This is late. Again. And I totally skipped a day. You'll know why, eventually. (To the Alex Protection Squad, this one's for y'all.)
> 
> Enjoy! (And practice safe sex.)
> 
> ADDENDUM:  
> This was unplanned but one morning I saw a certain [clip of Mr. Kokoy De Santos](https://twitter.com/_bspctcldwrites/status/1325574334950248448?s=19). And then I thought, it must be done.

Cairo shouldn’t have let Wesley talk him into coming. He didn’t need to be here to let loose. When he said he was looking forward to a relaxing Friday night, he meant spending it in his apartment, nursing a glass of wine and watching some obscure movie with a plot so predictable he could fall asleep and still know the ending. 

But Wesley wasted no time telling him the idea was redic as soon as Cairo said it. There’s a reason why a gut feel is called such, and he should’ve paid attention to it when his colleague said with a wolfish smile, “I’m picking you up at eight. We’re going somewhere that’s actually relaxing _and_ fun.” And Cairo shouldn’t have ignored red flag number two when he asked what to wear and Wesley just shrugged and said, “something nice.”

On a Friday night after yet another exhausting week, Cairo finds himself _in a strip club._ Clearly, his jerk of a friend was in some punitive mood tonight. A little warning would’ve been nice. He knows that Cairo’s not the biggest fan of strip clubs. Or any sort of public entertainment venues, really.

But he’s already here. Cairo finds comfort in glaring at the smoke and red and purple lights. And people.

“Cai, listen, you’re going to enjoy this, I swear,” Wesley says for the umpteenth time that night when Cairo sends a waiter hightailing it from their booth after taking their orders. “I’m gonna introduce you to one of my friends after the show.”

“And?”

“And he knows this guy,” Wesley says, smiling.

Cairo’s eyes widen. “What the fuck, Wes? I’m not—”

“Stupid, it’s not what you think.” 

“What else could it be? You’re being awfully cryptic.”

“Because it _is_ supposed to be secret.”

“You do know that’s not helping your case, don’t you?”

Wesley looks to the ceiling, frustrated. “ _Christ,_ just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, okay? You can decide later if you like my surprise or not.” 

Their waiter comes back with their drinks just as the lights dim and the music grows quiet. Cairo leans back on the couch, sipping his whiskey. God knows just how much liquid courage he’ll need to get through tonight without murdering Wesley.

He knows he hasn’t had sex since… well, since he broke up with his ex a couple months back, but it’s not like he doesn’t have the means to get off when he wants to. Subjecting himself to visual stimulation in public may not be the wisest idea either when he’s so pent-up from not being touched for so long. And while a strip club is the last place where he should be scared to pop a boner, he’d really rather not.

Wesley is probably aware of this, too. After all, he was the first person to realize the split, thanks to Cairo’s unhealthy coping mechanism of throwing himself neck-deep into work. His friend came up to him, worry written all over his face, when Cairo didn’t budge from being employee of the month for three months straight. He’s no mediocre paralegal (now attorney), but he’s known to comprehend the concept of work-life balance best. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was Wesley’s attempt to take matters into his own hands and get Cairo to break away from the downward spiral.

The breakup was ugly, like every other breakup, really. But the wounds are fresh, and Cairo’s getting the heebie-jeebies just from thinking about it, so he turns to the stage and waits with the other spectators for the show to start.

The first few notes of one of The Weeknd’s songs filter through the speakers, and the stage lights up again to reveal the dancers sporting muscle shirts and sweatpants. Cairo crosses and uncrosses his legs, taking a larger gulp of his amber drink so his throat burns a little. From the corner of his eye, he sees Wesley throw him a wry smile. He flips him the bird without taking his eyes off the stage.

He will have to hand it to Wesley for getting them the booth. Cairo didn’t have the energy and patience to be in the middle of the pit with all the screaming and general roughhousing. The pessimist in him, however, thinks the VIP treatment is to soften the blow of whatever surprise awaits him after the show.

It may be the lack of proximity, or the excitable crowd that won’t let up on the yelling at every dolphin dive and hip thrust, or the anticipation of what comes next that he won’t ever admit aloud, but Cairo feels more lethargic than turned on by the end. His only consolation was that the moment the curtains are drawn and some generic club music plays for the intermission, he’s not made to wait any longer. Wesley grabs him by the elbow and whisks him away.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re meeting Terrence,” Wesley says in a conspiratorial whisper that Cairo strains to catch. The music is too loud, Wesley seems to have forgotten in his persistence to keep things hush-hush and Cairo on his toes.

“Your friend, I’m assuming.”

“Yep,” Wesley says excitedly, dragging him to the direction of a backdoor where a tall mestizo stands, wearing a cotton shirt and jeans that hugged his bulky figure. “Terrence, how you been?” Wesley greets. Cairo doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the lights but Wesley’s cheeks are a little red.

Terrence smiles, a touch too bright for a _friend_ . “Same old, Wes,” he says in a soft tone that Cairo totally didn’t expect from someone of his build. He looks at Cairo, giving him a once-over. It’s totally not invasive, but Cairo bristles all the same. Just because Terrence is easy on the eyes doesn’t mean he can give Cairo _the_ appraisal. “Is this the friend you told me about?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Wesley, nudging Cairo on the ribs. “This is Cairo. Cairo, meet Terrence. He’s one of the proprietors.”

“Oh,” Cairo interjects before he can stop himself. “I thought—”

“That I perform, too? You’re not wrong,” Terrence says, smiling again. Cairo decides that he finds Terrence’s smile annoying.

“So is Terrence—”

“My real name. I go by something different onstage.”

Yep, Terrence, and not just his smile, Cairo finds annoying. _“Right.”_

“Anyway, you guys ready? Warren’s waiting for you, Cairo.”

“Who’s that?”

“The crowd favorite,” says Wesley with a glint in his eyes. “He’s giving you a private show.”

“What.”

“You heard that right,” Terrence says, jerking his head to the open door. “Let’s go?”

Cairo doesn’t get to protest. Wesley swings an arm about his shoulders and drags him along, Terrence leading the way. The door falls closed behind them, cutting off the music, and for a moment, Cairo’s world tilts off-axis from the sudden quiet. They cross the entire length of a dimly-lit hallway, and at the end is a shut door.

“Uh, am I allowed to turn back?” Cairo says as they come to a stop.

Terrence turns to him with a bemused smile, “Wes told me you’re pretty _experienced_.”

Cairo scowls at Wesley, then at Terrence. The last thing he wants is to be called a prude. “I’m not into strip teases outside the bedroom.”

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything,” says Terrence. “Warren’s not just anyone, and he was supposed to be the opening act, but Wes booked him for you.”

“And I’m supposed to feel lucky now?”

“The short answer is yes,” Wesley cuts in. “Live a little, Cai. If you want to stop at any point, you can tell Warren. He’s not gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna. That’s like the universal rule.”

“And no sex. Please, for the love of God, no sex,” Terrence says with a hint of frustration that could only come from having experienced the horror of walking into it while someone’s on the clock.

Cairo sighs. “I swear, if this turns out to be the worst experience of my life—”

Wesley smiles at him. “Trust me, it’s going to be one of the best.”

“Go in now, Warren will join you shortly,” Terrence says, turning the knob. He gives Wesley a small smile. “Wes and I will be at my office. Warren will take you there.”

“That’s not gonna be awkward at all,” quips Cairo.

“It will be _only_ if you let it,” says Wesley, pushing him inside. The room is cold and the music, loud.

Cairo gives Terrence and Wesley one last look, trying to read their body language. Terrence keeps giving Wesley the heart eyes and Wesley’s fingers seem to be fidgeting. Both of them are carmine red in the muted light.

“Does the no-sex rule apply to the owner, too?” asks Cairo.

Before either of them can say anything, Cairo slams the door in their blanched faces.

His victory is short-lived, however, for as soon as Cairo spins around to take stock of the private room, his stomach sinks to the floor. The room is decorated with wall sconces, giving off the red and purple lights that make dancers look less… undesirable. An L-shaped ebony couch lines the length of two walls, and opposite them are mirrors.

If Terrence was going for shaming rule-breakers with no exhibitionist kinks into keeping it in their pants, then he was already succeeding. Cairo _is_ perturbed and feeling exposed just standing here.

He takes a deep breath and walks to the couch, unsure what to do next. He decides to pour some of the Jack Daniel’s on the table, throwing it back. He can’t even be bothered with the ice; his hands are shaking as if he had overdosed on caffeine and he really needs to calm the fuck down.

Cairo can’t fathom why he’s so nervous. He is no virgin. He’s had a lot of sex, and he’s had his fair share of strip club outings before he started dating his ex. And now that he’s single again, shouldn’t he just enjoy tonight?

He doesn’t get to agonize over his situation for long. There is a knock, loud against R&B beats filtering through unseen speakers, a voice that sounds a lot like someone he knows, and the door opens.

In comes the last person he expects to see.

Cairo’s throat closes up, and he almost chokes. “Gav?”

“Cai?” Gavreel, the cause of all his hung-ups, his ex-boyfriend of eleven months, whispers back. “Are you—?”

Cairo tries and fails to ignore the stitch that grows in his chest. _Fuck_ , he can’t believe this is happening. Of course Gavreel had to be his private dancer. Of course the man he last shared a bed with is sharing this space with him. _Of course_ it all makes sense now.

“Am I your customer? Heck yeah, I am, Gavreel,” Cairo grits out with all the bitterness he can muster. “Or should I say, Warren?” He turns to the exotic dancer, wishing the heat in his eyes were due to alcohol and the smoke and the overall shitty lighting, and not because for the first time in months he’s finally casting his gaze upon Gavreel’s handsome, loving face.

“Cai, look, I can explain,” Gavreel starts, taking an unsteady step forward, then abruptly stopping, as if realizing where they stand. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to know.”

The night of the falling out comes back to Cairo then, in flashes: Gavreel’s snide comment that soon-to-be CPA-lawyer Cairo Lazaro must be embarrassed he had to introduce his broke part-timer boyfriend to his lawyer friends and professors, and Cairo’s scathing, truthless rejoinder that Gavreel is absolutely right, _I wake up every day wishing you had more ambition than just_ being, _Alarcon._ Gavreel, walking away, leaving him at the sidewalk. Cairo, coming home to an apartment with not a single trace of Gavreel that one wouldn’t think he was ever there to begin with, waking in Cairo’s bed and dreaming of a life with him, of a life that no longer will be.

Cairo’s tears refuse to fall, but they cloud his vision when he turns to Gavreel again with all the hurt he’s been nursing, returning with full force now that he knows that he’s been kept in the dark all this time.

“So, this is it? Is this why you were always working late hours? Why you couldn’t tell me what you do? Why you walked away that night?”

Gavreel is silent, his curls falling over his eyes as he hangs his head. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me because—?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think little of me,” Gavreel says in a quiet voice. Cairo wants to break something, maybe the glass in his hand. “I was planning to quit sometime this year, but then…”

“But then that night happened.”

Gavreel nods. “Can’t fault you, though,” he says, looking at Cai with eyes that tell a different story. “I wasn’t the most honest. I could’ve just told you the real reason.”

“You were testing me.” Cairo blinks away his tears, taking in a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Gav. I knew you were keeping something from me. Had I known, I wouldn’t have said what I said.”

“What would you have said, then?”

Cairo looks at Gavreel, really looks at him this time. If he could afford to be truthful this time, he would say, _“I wish you didn’t assume the worst in me. I wish you had more faith. I wish you told me everything so I could’ve helped you figure it out.”_

But there’s no point in crying over spilled milk. His words already wounded Gavreel the same way Gavreel’s left him scarred. There’s no way he can forgive either of them for choosing to fuck with each other instead of communicating like proper adults.

He can’t love someone who can’t trust him and neither can he love someone whom he can’t trust.

“Does it even matter?” Cairo says instead, pouring himself another glass. He wipes away the remnants of his tears and gestures to Gavreel with his glass. “You were testing me, I failed. I was testing you, and you failed. You hurt me, I hurt you, and now, we’re over.”

Something shifts in Gavreel’s eyes. If it’s hurt or something else, Cairo pays it no heed. He drinks his whiskey, and when he turns to Gavreel, bathed in the red and purple glow, he finds eyes that have become steely.

“You’re at least happy, right? Doing this?” Cairo continues, despite himself. He _loved_ Gavreel, he at least wants to know that he is doing better. “I mean, you know me, Gav. I don’t judge people by their professions. People need to earn their keep.”

“I actually co-own the club. Terrence and I started this two months ago.”

There’s a twinge in Cairo’s chest. It’s not from the fact that Gavreel didn’t seem to follow through with his plan to quit the club life after all, but from not sharing in the joy of his finding the success he worked so hard for.

“Congratulations are in order, then,” Cairo says, hoping he sounds casual enough. As if to drive home his point, he pours Gavreel some whiskey, extending his hand in an offer. Gavreel stares at him, immobile, and Cairo makes to put the glass down when Gavreel crosses the distance between them and takes it, their fingers brushing for a second. He drinks it one go, the way he always does, and Cairo tries not to ogle at how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows the liquor. 

“Thanks,” says Gavreel. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.” Cairo fills their glasses, this time with ice. The couch dips as Gavreel sinks into the space a foot away from him. This is okay, this is totally okay. Casual enough, just two exes catching up. “So you’re like Terrence? Proprietor-slash-performer?”

“Yeah, I tried to stick to operations, but I missed the stage.”

Cairo feels a thousand icicles pierce through him. “Right, do you usually take private requests?”

“Only when I can trust the customer. Or, in this case, the friend of the customer.”

“You know Wesley?”

“Terrence likes him. It’s not hard to remember the guy.”

Cairo stares at Gavreel, dumbfounded. “So you’re telling me that they…?”

“Are getting it on in Terrence’s office.”

Cairo shudders. “Nasty.”

“I know,” Gavreel agrees, laughing. There’s a sound that Cairo misses dearly. Cairo quashes down the thought.

“So I guess the no-sex rule exempts the owners, huh,” Cairo comments, drinking more whiskey. He can feel the effects of the alcohol already. His speech is a little loose, and he feels a little less suffocated even while sharing this space with Gavreel.

“Only Terrence, that hypocrite. I’ve never done it, much less while on the clock.”

Something about the way Gavreel says it, as if it matters _at all,_ irks Cairo. “Gav, you don’t have to convince me. I know you’re loyal. Don’t make it sound like I was judging you. You made that assumption.” Yep, _he’s_ loose-tongued. Just a little bit, a tiny bit. “And like I said, we’re finished. I couldn’t care less who you’re fucking now.” He drinks a little, just to wash down the bile that rises in his throat after saying all that bullshit.

Gavreel is silent. Cairo wants to disappear.

“Well, we’re okay, right?” Gavreel asks after a while, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“Of course,” Cairo says quickly.

Gavreel finishes the rest of his drink, putting down the glass on the table with enough force to make Cairo jump. “Then shall we proceed? Wesley would want to get his money’s worth.”

Cairo’s stomach churn. “Are you serious?”

“I’m at work, Cai.”

“So? Can’t you just… not work?”

Gavreel looks at him as though he sported two heads. “I thought we were okay?”

“Yes, we are, but that doesn’t mean I would want my ex to give me a lap dance.”

Cairo should’ve thought twice before saying that. Gavreel is grinning and Cairo wants to sock him in the jaw.

“Oh c’mon Cai, surely you can’t be that affected by moi?” Gavreel teases, dimpled cheeks popping.

 _Of course I am,_ Cairo wants to spit out, _what do you take me for, a rock devoid of feelings?_ It’s not helping that Gavreel’s wearing a baggy sleeveless shirt that exposes not only his muscular arms and pectorals but also the chest tattoo that Cairo liked to bite whenever they fucked. 

“Well?” Gavreel prompts when Cairo takes too long to answer, frozen. “If you’re not comfortable with it, then we can just talk and catch up?”

And Cairo would have taken that at face value, but Gavreel’s eyes are dancing with mirth, and Cairo can’t take that blow to his pride. He also can’t deny that he wants to find out what’s so special about _Warren_ , wants to know what it will be like to be seduced and driven crazy by Gavreel Mendoza Alarcon one last time.

“Can I just ask something?”

“Yeah?”

“Why Warren?”

Gavreel blinks at him, and his face softens. “Sky High.”

Cairo’s foggy brain supplies him with a memory from many nights ago, when he and Gavreel were fighting over movies. Gavreel won the dare, chose Sky High, and Cairo told him that if he ever needed a pseudonym, he should go by Warren Peace since his name means “angel of peace.” With a wry smile, Gavreel said it was the most prosaic pseudonym and anyone would be able to figure him out, but Cairo countered that no one would think he was named after an angel. They resumed their tousling, forgetting about the movie, and ended up tangled in bed and under the sheets.

Cairo can’t believe he forgot. He feels sick.

Gavreel’s hand ghosts his, waiting for permission. “Cairo?”

“No sex, promise me,” he says, looking into Gavreel’s eyes.

All laughter leaves Gavreel’s face. “You’re not that special. I’m not breaking my own rule for you, Atty. Lazaro.”

“Okay,” Cairo mutters, hurt, terrified, and bothered.

Gavreel cocks an eyebrow, smiling. He twists in his seat so he can face Cairo. “So, rule number one: no touching. Unless I consent to it.”

“Okay.”

“Rule number two: no sex. But I think we’ve already established that.”

“We did.”

“And lastly, call me by my stage name.”

“Okay. Warren.”

Gavreel _—Warren—_ nods, satisfied. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Cairo blinks. He hates this. He hates that even now, Gavreel _—Warren, Cairo, call him Warren—_ makes him want to throw all sense and logic out the window. “I am.”

“Perfect,” Warren says. “Remove your jacket.”

Cairo stares at him, baffled.

“You would want to cover yourself up when you walk out of here, trust me.”

Cairo must be tomato-red when it dawns on him. He wriggles out of the leather jacket and tosses it to the end of the couch. It’s only one piece of clothing off but he can’t help feeling naked all of a sudden. He blames it on the way Warren watches him with unwavering eyes.

“I’m gonna massage your hand, is that okay?”

“Why?”

“You’re too tense,” Warren says, patient. “We can’t have fun unless you let down your guard.”

“Does that really work?”

“Depends on the customer. I’d like to take this route with you.” He holds out his hand, palm up, the barest hint of a smile playing across his lips. Cairo gulps, lifting his left hand that won’t stop shaking and placing it on Warren’s. “Good boy,” the dancer says, taking Cairo’s hand in both his hands and tracing circles on his skin. Cairo’s not quite sure if it’s Warren’s massage skills or the familiar touch, but the relief is instant. “Were you working late?”

“When am I not?” 

“True, but how about we pretend we’re only getting to know each other?” Warren says, voice devoid of lilt and growing deep. He looks at Cairo with a neutral expression that tells him he’s already made up his mind. “Sound good?” 

“Sure.”

Warren smiles again, and for some reason, Cairo feels validated. “So, did you have plans tonight?”

“Dunno if wine and movies count,” Cairo says, watching Warren roll his knuckle joints between the calloused pads of his thumb and forefinger, “but sure.”

“Did Wesley have to drag you out?”

“Kind of. He didn’t tell me we were going here.”

Warren hums, almost inaudible against the thumping music, thumbs now pressing into the knot at the bottom of Cairo’s palm. “You should thank him for saving you from a boring night in,” he says before guiding Cairo’s hand to his clothed chest. Cairo panics, pulling back, an unspoken question at the tip of his tongue. Warren holds his hand steady. “It’s fine, you can touch. Anything but Warren junior. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” Cairo says, breathless. He stares at their hands, a sight too familiar. He distracts himself by focusing on the heat underneath his palm, the hard muscle and the dark nipples peeking through the threadbare fabric of Warren’s shirt. He doesn’t even notice a new song has already started, the roar of his heart rendering him deaf to everything else but Warren’s voice.

Warren slowly lifts his other hand, kisses it and looks at Cairo, asking for permission. Cairo nods his head, throat dry as a desert, and then he finds his other hand on Warren’s rock-hard abs. Warren drags Cairo’s hands up, down, then up again, circling them around his chest, and his abdomen. Cairo wants to melt in the heat, beads sweat breaking through his skin.

The dancer climbs on the couch so he’s now on his knees, rolling his body, and then his hips, letting Cairo’s hands roam along the ripples and planes and dips.

“Could you lean back for me, please? I’d like to get close,” Warren says, nudging Cairo by the shoulder ever so slightly in a silent request, and Cairo is eager to humor him, moving back so he’s flush against the backrest. Warren tugs Cairo’s hands down to his waist, pressing them there so they don’t stray, then moves with practiced ease to straddle Cairo’s lap, bracing his hands against the cushioned wall on either side of Cairo’s head. Cairo’s sharp intake of breath is more Warren than actual air, the scent of rain mingling with whiskey, heady. He doesn’t get the chance to regain mastery of himself, for as soon as they’re settled, Warren resumes his party trick over Cairo’s lap, arching his chest down to his waist, rolling his hips against Cairo’s thighs, touching, coming so close every time, but not quite.

Cairo’s hands grip Warren’s waist a little more tightly, and Warren must notice. He tilts Cairo’s head and leans in so their lips almost brush and Cairo can taste his exhale. “You seem to have relaxed already.”

Gritting his teeth, Cairo retorts with, “Would you rather I make this awkward by remaining a nervous wreck?”

Warren’s lips part in a smile, showing his teeth. “So I make you nervous, attorney?”

“Your talking makes me think _you’re_ the one who’s nervous.”

Warren laughs and leans back to peel off his shirt, and Cairo’s breath is arrested with the sight of the body of a god. He curses his luck. Did he really let this walk away?

His face must betray him, because Warren is in his space once more, smirking. “Like what you see?” he purrs, yanking Cairo’s hands from where they’re still holding his waist and pinning them above his head. He wastes no time to continue his routine, crowding Cairo but never really pressing against him, and Cairo feels his lungs cave in when he gets so close he can bite at those pink, pink lips if he wants to. What kills him the most is knowing that if this were any other night in the past, he could. He absolutely would ravage Gavreel until he’s spent and unable to go any further.

At one point, Warren slides his knees so far apart that he thrusts into the space between Cairo’s thighs, and if Cairo wasn’t turned on then, he is positively straining against his pants now.

“How’d you like that, attorney?”

 _Do it again,_ Cairo wants to say, but he doesn’t. He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “That all you got?”

He shouldn’t have said that. Gavreel _—Warren—_ enjoys a challenge. Before he knows it, Warren has removed himself from his lap, swung Cairo’s legs up, and tipped him back so he’s lying on the couch. His yelp gets stuck in his throat as Warren’s descending upon him again, rolling his body against his, barely leaving space, and holding himself up by the strong arms that cage Cairo’s head. This goes on for the rest of the song, and Warren seems to derive great satisfaction in seeing him come apart at the seams beneath him and struggle against canting his hips to meet him and relieve himself.

The song fades into a close, and another, this time slower, softer, more quiet, reaches Cairo’s ears. Warren hovers above him, half his face in shadow and half in red and purple light, and still Cairo sees the smile that once upon a time he knew like the back of his hand.

Scratch that. He still does. He wakes to dreams of it, falls asleep to the yearning of seeing it.

It’s as if he’d taken a dive into a frozen lake. Warren—no, _Gavreel._ Gavreel’s lips are moving in what can only be dirty talk, but Cairo’s mind is elsewhere. His hand comes up, cupping Gavreel’s face, making the dancer jump. 

“Cairo?” Gavreel whispers, worry painting his features. 

“Gav,” Cairo chokes out, “let’s stop.”

“Is everything alright?”

Cairo feels like a loser, but he can’t do this anymore. He can’t keep calling Gavreel by another name just so they can have their “fun” when so many things remain unsaid between them. _“_ Let’s stop.”

“Cai?”

“Please, enough of this, please,” Cairo says, the back of his eyes burning. He pulls Gavreel down, wrapping his arms around him, holding tight. “I can’t do it, Gav. I can’t. I don’t want Warren.” _I want you, baby._

Gavreel has gone stockstill, obviously shocked by this turn of events. Cairo can’t blame him, but all the same, he feels disappointment creeping up his chest when Gavreel doesn’t say anything, or move to hold him, too. 

Perhaps, theirs is a bond damaged beyond repair. And Cairo’s fine with that. He can live with that. Anything is better than this.

He buries his nose into Gavreel’s hair, breathing in his scent a final time to keep with him for the long life that will be spent without a face full of curls smelling like rain and comfort and love in the mornings.

Did he ever make Gavreel feel like he wouldn’t accept him? Did Gavreel really think he’d walk away if he knew?

Cairo would like to think that he didn’t and that Gavreel didn’t, but they both fell short here, and if Gavreel is past the point of talking through it, then he will have to accept that.

With this newfound resolve, he moves to gently push him away, but just as he’s unwrapping his arms about Gavreel, he’s being seized by the waist, rolled over, and pressed against a solid chest. Too surprised to react, Cairo keeps himself from moving neither muscle nor hair, and not even a shallow breath makes it past his lips.

_“Baby.”_

Cairo feels it more than he hears it, the word thrumming through Gavreel’s chest, through Cairo’s skin.

 _“Baby,”_ Gavreel calls again, tightening his arms around Cairo. _“Baby Cai,”_ he whispers.

“Baby,” Cairo says, testing the word, careful to note how it tastes. “Baby Gav,” he says again, and it is sweet, even through the salt of his tears.

Gavreel’s hands glide to his shoulders, gripping him so tight that he’s unable to breathe, but Cairo can’t bring himself to mind at all. If he did it again, Cairo would be willing to finally fall apart. He’d be more than happy to have lived long enough to hear him say his name and be in his arms one last time. 

_“Fuck,_ I missed you. I missed you so much, baby,” Gavreel says, voice waterlogged and strained.

“I missed you, too,” Cairo sobs. He raises his head, peering at Gavreel’s tear-stained face. “I missed you so fucking much.”

A beat, like a pin dropping in the quiet, and Cairo springs to action, capturing Gavreel’s lips, tasting salt and whiskey and sweet, sweet _Gavreel._ He rakes his fingers through Gavreel’s soft curls, swallows Gavreel’s every breath, drinks in every sound and fills the space and silence with his own. Gavreel’s arms are firm, trailing up and down his back, clawing through the fabric of his shirt, steady, patient, letting him lead.

They part for air, foreheads pressed together, and Cairo kisses Gavreel’s nose. “Gav,” he says, more breath than Gavreel’s beautiful name, “let’s get out of here.”

“Baby,” Gavreel mutters, tucking Cairo’s locks behind his ear and cradling his face. “I’m not walking out with blue balls.”

“But the policy—”

“I lied. You _are_ special, Atty. Lazaro,” Gavreel says, voice growing husky. _Sexy._ “So special that I’m breaking my own rule for you. Let’s keep it secret, okay?”

Cairo doesn’t get a word in, for Gavreel has devoured his mouth. His head is full of Gavreel—the way Gavreel feels, the way Gavreel tastes, the way Gavreel sounds. He doesn’t even realize that Gavreel has reversed their positions, not until he’s being grinded into and he’s seeing stars.

He must have yelled, because Gavreel is covering his mouth again, kissing him, nipping his lips and biting his tongue, all the while grinding and rubbing against him. His hands seek purchase of every piece of Gavreel, and he digs his nails into his back, scratching. He feels himself getting close, and fuck his being touch-starved and fucked-up libido. Gavreel should take responsibility for turning him into this mess.

“Gav,” Cairo whimpers. _“Baby,_ I’m close.”

“Already?” Gavreel says, tone unbelievably light. He moves back a little, smiling down at Cairo, and Cairo frowns at the devil incarnate.

“I’m serious, Alarcon,” mutters Cairo. He can’t even be bothered that he’s basically admitting that Gavreel is wrecking him good. “Don’t you have blacklights and shit, you dunderhead?”

Gavreel laughs, finding much amusement at Cairo’s expense. “The only head you’re going to think of tonight is _that_ head,” he says.

“Hello? Am I talking to a rock? I’m in a dilemma here,” is Cairo’s riposte, pushing Gavreel off of him with some effort. He shucks off his pants, pauses, then thinks better of it and removes his sweater so he’s only in his boxers, wet with precum and his erection writ large.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Gavreel quips.

Cairo glares at him. He almost wishes he’d go flaccid just to spite Gavreel. “Blacklights.”

“Aren’t you going to free that?” Gavreel says, staring at Cairo’s crotch.

“Aren’t you going to free yours?” Cairo rejoinders.

Gavreel chuckles, then he’s pushing Cairo against the backrest again. “At least let me give you a show, baby.”

“Gav, I appreciate it, but—”

He’s cut off with a finger on his lips, and Gavreel’s straddling him again. Their brief banter has cleared away much of the brain fog, and Cairo can now hear the music still playing in the background, the music that Gavreel’s now rolling his body to, deliberately slow, edging Cairo. Gavreel takes his hands that have started twitching where they lie on the couch, and brings one to his tattooed chest and the other to his lower back so Cairo’s fingers are grazing the seam of his jeans.

Cairo swallows, feeling parched. Gavreel’s smiling at him, encouraging him to move. And Cairo does just that, trailing his hand up and down Gavreel’s chest, plunging his fingers inside his jeans, scratching at the fabric of his underwear.

“Doing good, baby,” Gavreel says, still swaying his body to the beat of the music. Cairo lets his fingers travel from Gavreel’s neck, his nipples, his abs. He journeys further down south, fingers hovering over the button of Gavreel’s jeans, dragging a finger along the zipper and poking at the noticeable bulge just a tiny bit.

Gavreel’s movements falter, and Cairo does it again, this time while cupping Gavreel’s ass cheek through his underwear. His—ex? boyfriend? lover? ex-ex? they will have to talk later— _baby_ cranes his neck at the motion, and, feeling inspired, Cairo hooks his fingers around his belt loops and tugs upwards. 

This has the desired effect of making Gavreel stop with his lap dance altogether, bracing his arms against the wall so he doesn’t fall on Cairo.

“Fuck, baby,” Gavreel grits out. “Do that again.”

Cairo is happy to oblige, and Gavreel’s growling, asking for it again. “Baby, I want these off,” Cairo says, looking up at Gavreel whose hot, labored breaths are fanning his face.

“Do me tonight, baby,” Gavreel utters in that deep, deep voice that would have him begging to be fucked raw instead had Gavreel not asked first. “I want you in me, please.”

Cairo pulls Gavreel down in a languid kiss. “You got lube and rubber?” he asks, lips brushing against Gavreel’s. He knows the possibility is close to zero, since Gavreel is a professional, but—

“Do me raw.”

Cairo almost chokes. “Gav—”

“I clean up every day, just in case you—I hoped. I was always the happiest with you,” Gavreel says, pecking his lips again. “Haven’t been with anyone since you.”

Cairo’s heart lurches. He starts tearing up again. “Baby—”

“I love you so much, Cairo,” Gavreel says, and he declares it so softly Cairo couldn’t have heard if he weren’t all that he sees at this moment.

Cairo’s hands are shaking when he holds Gavreel’s face, looks into his eyes, and says with all the love he holds in his chest, “I love you, too. So much, Gavreel.”

They kiss again, falling into familiar motions. Cairo knows how Gavreel likes it when he sucks a bruise into his collarbone and drags his tongue across his chest and bites at the tattoo that sums up how he feels in every moment spent with Gavreel: blessed. Gavreel’s lips flutter against his earlobe, teeth nipping at his jaw and the hollow of his throat, fingers pinching his nipple so he’s moaning, writhing underneath him.

At some point, Gavreel discards his pants, then their boxers, and then they’re grinding into each other, skin to skin, heat to heat. Cairo wraps his fingers around their cocks, wetting them with their precum and spit, then takes them to the space between Gavreel’s ass cheeks, seeking his entrance.

His breath hitches. Gavreel _is_ loose, gaping for him. Tentatively, he inserts a knuckle, and it goes in without resistance, engulfing his entire finger. Above him, Gavreel whimpers, and Cairo works him open, going slow.

“Baby, please,” Gavreel says, biting his lower lip, hard enough that it would split if he didn’t quit at it, “want you, want you in me like this.”

“But, baby, I don’t want it to hurt,” Cairo says, inserting a second finger, scissoring them. He kisses Gavreel on the cheek, massaging his lower back with his free hand.

Gavreel’s eyes are all pupil, filled with need. “Cairo, I’ve been dreaming of this for months and I just want you in me. _Now.”_

Cairo’s voice quivers. “As long as you’re sure.”

Gavreel smiles at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and granting him a lingering kiss. “I’ve never been more certain. Now, please, I beg of you, rail me, baby,”

“Idiot.” Cairo chuckles, pecking Gavreel’s nose. He waits a bit, searches Gavreel’s eyes for any hint of fear, but all he sees is joy, and anticipation, and love. _Want._ Everything that he was missing all this time.

Cairo lifts Gavreel’s hips, aligns his cock along his entrance, then slowly guides him down. He bottoms out, and then the two of them are clutching each other from fear of getting swept away by the white heat that comes to them in waves.

They stay still for a moment, listening to their heartbeats, their breaths, remembering and waiting out the pain that will give way to pleasure. It’s been so long, and yet they know that with them two, the best way to go is slow. So much has been lost when they let themselves be carried by the ebb of some other arbitrary force. It took losing each other to understand that all they ever really needed was to stop, and listen.

Hence, they start slow. Cairo holds Gavreel through every bounce, until his legs have stopped shaking and he’s meeting Cairo thrust by thrust. He asks Gavreel if he’s okay, if he needs to pause, and Gavreel bites the inside of his cheek, shakes his head, and continues to ride Cairo, voice reaching octaves only Cairo can induce. Cairo litters Gavreel’s chest with kisses, closes his lips around the dark nipples, sucking, wetting them with his tongue, wanting Gavreel to feel desired, worshipped.

“Baby, please, go faster,” Gavreel says, digging his fingers into Cairo’s shoulders. “I can take it, please.”

Cairo takes it as Gavreel says it. He lays an open-mouthed kiss on Gavreel’s breastbone, pulls him tight by the waist, and rams into him in earnest. Twin groans tear off their chests, Gavreel's singing his name, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Cairo continues his rhythm, unrelenting, until Gavreel is convulsing, spilling white hot between their chests.

Continuing his thrusts, Cairo chases his own release through Gavreel’s orgasm, feeling the heat clench and unclench around him. Thrown in a loop, he soon follows, coming in Gavreel, filling Gavreel to the brim with a soft yell that Gavreel captures with his mouth.

They collapse on each other, spent and satiated, exchanging kisses that have neither rhythm nor pace, an uncoordinated, frantic dance of four left feet. When Gavreel takes Cairo’s hand to kiss each knuckle, Cairo’s chest is suffused with fearlessness anew. “Go home with me tonight.”

“Are you asking me to ditch work, baby?”

Cairo smiles. “I mean, I’d like to stay and see all those people pine for you, but I can’t have them knowing you’re taken. Not good for the business.”

Gavreel raises his head from where it’s resting on Cairo’s chest. “Who said I’m taken?”

“I did, unless you oppose?”

Gavreel looks at Cairo, his eyes soft and glazed. Despite himself, Cairo feels trepidation grow and swirl in the pit of his belly.

“As long as I get to play Mario tonight.”

Cairo can’t help it. His face breaks into a smile so big his cheeks hurt. “Okay.”

“And for the entire weekend.”

If Gavreel wants to, he can play Mario for the rest of their lives. He'll give him that much. Cairo nods. “Are we telling Terrence?”

“Nah, I’ve been meaning to get back at him. Now’s the perfect chance.”

“I don’t really like him. He’s too… smiley.”

“I don’t really like Wesley either. But he brought me to you so I guess he’s alright.”

“You got that backwards. He brought _me_ to you.”

“Uhhhh, in case you’re forgetting, _I_ was the one who serviced you.”

Cairo’s heart grows. “I love you, too, baby Gav.”

For a brief moment, Gavreel is still, but the smile that is uniquely his finds its way once more to his lips. “And I love you, baby Cai.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! As always, please leave a comment and/or kudos! I'd love to know what you think! I speak Tagalog, too, so feel free to make sigaw (charot) below.
> 
> Here's my Twitter for the curious: [@_bspctcldwrites](https://twitter.com/_bspctcldwrites/).
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


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